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secretly for the FBI.”

CHAPTER 3
    We didn’t stay at the Colonial Inn. Instead we continued driving for over two hours. By the time Jim Peterson finally brought the van to a stop in front of the Mayflower Hotel on the outskirts of Richmond, my eyes had grown so accustomed to its dark interior that it was a startling experience to step out into daylight.
    â€œIs this where we’re staying?” asked Bram, squinting up at the high-rise with that brown-eyed, blue-eyed gaze that so disconcerted strangers.
    â€œThis is it,” Jim said. “We have a reservation for ‘Peterson.’ For the time we’re here, we will all be using my name.”
    Although the Mayflower did not have the old-fashioned elegance of the Colonial Inn, what it lacked in atmosphere it more than made up for in size. We walked into a lobby as large as the auditorium at Springside Academy, with a back wall lined with boutiques and gift shops. While Jim was checking us in at the registration desk, a bellhop rushed to collect our luggage and a uniformed garage attendant parked the van. We rode up to the fourteenth floor in a glass-walled elevator, and the “room” that had been reserved for us proved to be a suite, complete with a living room, two bedrooms, and two baths.
    â€œHey!” Bram yelped, as he bounded across the living room to open the glass doors leading out to a balcony. “April, come out and look! There’s a humongous swimming pool!”
    â€œIt’s a good thing, then, that I packed my suit,” I said.
    While Jim was tipping the bellhop, Mom sat down on the sofa, and I followed my brother out onto the balcony. Across from us, rows of identical porches jutted out from the opposite wing, their doors reflecting the low, slanted light of the late afternoon sun like a row of mirrors. Bram hung over the railing to peer down at a patio area below us where a turquoise pool lay surrounded by yellow deck chairs. Only a few of the chairs were occupied, and the pool was empty.
    â€œRats!” Bram exclaimed. “I wish I’d brought my swim trunks!”
    â€œI’m sure we can pick up a pair for you tomorrow,” I said. “Maybe they even sell them in the hotel gift shop.”
    â€œI’m hot right now ,” Bram complained. “I don’t want to wait till tomorrow. Why didn’t Uncle Max say there would be a pool?”
    I left him standing there grumbling and went back into the living room. By now the bellhop had gone, and our suitcases were lined in a row just inside the entranceway. Jim was in the process of securing the chain on the door, and Mom was staring with unfocused eyes at a painting on the wall across from her, looking as exhausted as if she had just put in a twelve-hour day at her computer.
    Jim regarded her with concern. “Are you okay, Mrs. Corrigan?”
    â€œNo,” said Mom. “I’m feeling pretty shaky. And by the way, don’t you think you should call me Liz? Since we’re sharing a suite, I take it we’re supposed to be related.”
    â€œRight,” Jim agreed. “I’m either your uncle or your father.” He sat down on the chair across from her, and from my position behind him I could see the pink of his scalp peeking out through the wispy strands of gray and was suddenly, painfully reminded of my Grandpa Clyde. The brisk, no-nonsense voice was like my grandfather’s also. “Bram, will you please come in here? We have things to talk about. We’ve got to establish some ground rules for our stay here.”
    When Bram came in from the balcony, his shirt was unbuttoned. He was evidently in stage one of preparing for the pool.
    â€œDo you think they let people swim in shorts?” he asked hopefully. “I’ve got cut-offs in my pack that look sort of like swim trunks.”
    Mom started to answer, but Jim was ahead of her. “I’m sorry, but you’re not going to be able to go